Find the Cost of Freedom
by TheUlmuri
Summary: Jason Bourne never expected to find Alex Rider in Jakarta, and Alex never expected to find Jason. Their lives were similar stories of death, corruption, and a need for truth. The only difference was that Jason had won his freedom, and Alex hadn't
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough said.**

**Hey people! It's been a while, I know. I've got several stories in the works, yet I've done almost nothing in the last couple months—with only my own laziness to blame. **

**Anyway, this is my first complete crossover. It's a bit of a new direction for me, but I hope you all like it. It's a lot less about the weapons and the fighting and all that stuff and more about the subterfuge and Alex **_**finally**_** getting the chance to get **_**out**_**.**

**Also, I'm looking for a BETA to look over the rest of this, so if anyone is interested, shoot me a PM and let me know. **

**Enjoy!**

**Continuity:** Alex Rider and The Bourne Trilogy (movieverse)

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Jason Bourne was running again. No surprise there. What he didn't expect was to run in to the son of an old friend mid hit in back street Jakarta. MI6 had always kept a tight lip about the NSA's rogue assassin just in case their best operative decided to go looking for him, but Alex wasn't one to pass up an opportunity when it was presented to him. They were mirror images of each other. One American, the other British. Both at the top of their game- professional, lethal, untouchable. The only difference was that Alex desperately wants what Jason already had: Freedom.

* * *

Find the Cost of Freedom

**Sunda Straight, Indonesia- 2335 hours**

The dilapidated fishing boat had been the best transportation that he could find on such short notice. Even from first glance, he had wondered how it managed to stay afloat with its questionably constructed hull and the above deck shack that was leaning precariously off square. Its creaking wooden deck was slimed over in a lifetime's worth of fish scales and the scent of the creatures hung so heavy in the humid South East Asian air that it was possible to taste the unpalatable flavor.

Despite all of its flaws, the old toothless fisherman had sealed the deal when he had agreed to transport the man from the small fishing village on Sumatra, where he had ended up after loosing his pursuers, to Jakarta on the neighboring island of Java, no name necessary, no questions asked. Price was no object, and the man had paid the fisherman generously for his services, further ensuring his companion's silence.

Now, as night settled solidly over the Java Sea, the man stood at the bow of the rickety fishing boat, watching as the lights of the world's twelfth largest city grew from a faint glow on the horizon into defined shapes and individual pinpoints of light. His companion had remained relatively quiet during the duration of their journey, and he was thankful as it allowed him to gather his thoughts and plan his next step.

The man tilted his head back, closing his eyes and breathing in the night air, ignoring the fishy scent that clung to the back of his throat as he tried to enjoy what would probably be the last peaceful moment he would experience for a while. The weak light of the moon illuminated his dark features yet simultaneously cast them features into shadow, aging his already worn and weary expression. The man's Caucasian skin was bone white in the dim light, marking him even more prominently as someone originally foreign to the part of the world he was currently in, and most likely of European or American decent.

Though the moon drained his skin from color, the remainder of the man's features were dark. His hair was short, almost severely so, reminiscent of a military buzz cut, more for utility than any sense of style. His cloths were similar in their pragmatic nature; a worn pair of jeans that were easy to move in and a dark t-shirt that was neither too tight nor too loose as to hinder motion. Furthermore, the man carried himself in a way that spoke of years of military training; his back was straight and the slight tension in his muscles spoke of an ever-present state of alertness. It was evident that the man kept himself very fit and the ease with which he kept his balance as the boat rocked back and forth with the motion of the sea underlined a sense of self awareness and grace that could be deadly if the situation called for it. Dark eyes shone with a haunted intensity in a clean-shaven face that was smoothed of all emotion, yet in the dim light, it was impossible to tell their color. Such was the expression that it could only be gained by gratuitous experience in loss, violence, and death.

The only possessions that the man had were the dark coat that was currently slung across one of the boat's rickety railings, and the worn black backpack that sat at his feet. It was clear that he was used to a life of travel, moving as frequently and as quickly as necessary in order to stay one step ahead of whatever he was running from.

The man sighed wearily as he eyed the bright lights of the steadily approaching city. His most recent run in with the NSA(1) assets that so frequently hounded him meant that he would be forced to relocate once again, and he hadn't yet figured out how he was going to get out of Indonesia without notice. He preferred to hide in the cities of South and Central Asia, where he could blend in with the countless masses of people who filled their streets. Generally, it had worked for him in the past, but there had always been the exception. His mind wandered back to when the FSB(2) assassin had caught up to them in Goa and the perfect circle that had marked where the bullet had entered his girlfriend's head.

The man shook his head abruptly, desperately trying to dislodge his current train of thought. It did no good for him to dwell on the past. Revenge had been served to those who deserved it and there was nothing that would change what had happened. He focused on the approaching city with renewed intensity.

Slowly, the fishing boat floated into Tanjung Priok Harbor in North Jakarta and the man grabbed his meager belongs and leapt lightly off the boat. He paused to help the old fisherman secure it to one of the many posts that were spaced intermittently along the dock and offered a quick word of thanks in the old man's native tongue and tossing him a couple extra _Rupiah_(3) before disappearing into the hustle and bustle created by Jakarta's eight-and-a-half million inhabitants.

* * *

**Yes, the intro is short (very short, *cringes*), but we're only getting started. **

**(1) NSA: National Security Agency**

**(2) FSB: **_**Federal'naya sluzhba bezopasnosti Rossiyskoy Federatsii **_**(Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation)—The Russian internal security agency. (Yeah, the assassin who dies in that car chase/crash at the end of **_**The Bourne Supremacy)**_

**(3) Rupiah: The currency of Indonesia. 1Ru= .000111 US Dollars.**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri **


	2. Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or Jason Bourne. **

**A/N: I'm still looking for a BETA, so if there's anyone who's interested, please send me a PM.**

**

* * *

**

**Jakarta, Indonesia- 0045 hours**

Jason Bourne quickly made his way away from the bright and vibrant metropolitan districts of Jakarta and lost himself in the seedier, more impoverished districts on the outskirts of the city. Previous experiences in the city allowed him to navigate through the overwhelming crush of civilization like a native until he could get away from the more populated areas and into the maze of back alleys that were navigable only to those who had business being there. Spies, shady businessmen, and dirty politicians alike often frequented this part of the city, mixing with the less savory of the city's population while conducting their clandestine business. While he knew that he was exponentially increasing the risk that he would be recognized or caught up in something he'd rather not be, Jason knew that that back street Jakarta would be the best place for him to lay low before he could make his next move.

The ex-assassin treaded confidently through the streets, the slight tension in his shoulders the only indication of his unease. He made his way to a small, hole-in-the-wall bar that he had used on one of his past stays in the city. While the bar's clientele was certainly questionable, it was one of the quieter, lesser-known locations in back street Jakarta, and he wanted his presence in this particular part of the city to kick up as little dust as possible. Hopefully, he would be out of the country within forty-eight hours.

The bar soon came into view, squeezed between equally shabby buildings on either side as it fought for space in the dirty alleyway. The sign bearing its name, _The Serpent's Den_, hung crookedly from its bracket and it was apparent that no work had been done to improve the building's aging façade since he had been there last. The long rainy seasons had done nothing to help the outside condition of the pub and Jason held no hope that the inside would be any better.

Jason pushed open the rickety door to the pub, ignoring the unwelcoming feeling that it exuded. As expected, the inside was dim and dingy, years of dirt accumulating in corners while a layer of general filth seemed to cover the floor and other surfaces. It was disgusting to be sure, but Jason didn't let it faze him. He would stay there long enough to gather any information he could about the current locations of some of his contacts in the city and then he would be on his way. He sat down at one of the bar stools that lined the main bar and waved away the barman, who had placed a warm and dusty bottle of beer in front of him without a word, and glanced surreptitiously around the small space, taking an inventory of the people and objects that he shared it with.

_The Serpents Den_ was a fitting name for the establishment, as it was clear that many of the other patrons were as dangerous as he was, wielding skills or connections that could land a person in a lethal situation with the smallest of wrong moves. It seemed that there were several illicit happenings in progress, from the Russians that seemed to be negotiating an arms deal with a client in a dark corner, to the various gang members and drug runners that were noticeable among the patronage. On the other hand, there were men of a much more clean-cut appearance; members of the upper echelons of society, who hung onto their power through shady deals and illegal business. He would do well to tread carefully— the last thing he needed was more trouble. Jason leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar before him and twirling his untouched bottle of beer in his hands and he planned how he would get out of the island trap that Indonesia had become.

A gentle and persistent nudge in the back of Jason's mind let him know that his subconscious had picked up the presence of a person that was much more dangerous than the general patronage of the pub, and he scanned the faces of the other people more closely in order to determine the source of the feeling. Eventually, his eyes alighted on a man sitting alone in the deeper shadows at the other end of the bar, and it was immediately apparent that this man was the source of his unease. He didn't need any sort of conformation to realize that he had run into one of his own kind. Though it would not be evident to anyone not in the business, there was something about the way his presence affected the atmosphere of the room that would let another assassin know that one of their own was nearby. It was a quality Jason counted on, since it had saved his own neck countless times.

Jason studied the other man more closely, trying to determine if it was better to stay or to go. Assassins tended to avoid others of their kind on principle, and he was leery of stepping into another's current "treeitory." He noticed that the other man was relatively young, likely only in his early twenties, but the calm he exuded was that of a veteran. His clothing was nondescript—faded jeans, a black, long sleeve shirt, and a necklace of wooden beads—allowing him to blend effortlessly with the people around him. The young man's movements were measured and sure as he casually reached a hand up to brush a strand of dark blond hair out of his icy brown eyes, making them visible to the ex-assassin for the first time. The coldness that the man's eyes held was unusual for one so young. It was evident that whoever the young man was, he was very good at what he did.

Yet, despite the subtle signs of danger that the young man radiated, there was something about him that tugged at the edges of Jason's memory, keeping the older assassin from following the smarter option of leaving the man, who, judging by the way his calm demeanor masked the fact that he was a snake waiting to strike, he had obviously stumbled upon in the middle of a job. Something about the brown eyes and dirty-blond hair reminded him of a different time and place, under different circumstances, though he knew that it had been too long ago for this man to be the one from his memories.

Still, the similarity was uncanny.

Jason watched as the blonde's icy gaze followed one of the other patrons out of the bar. He noted the way that the man waited for a carefully calculated moment before casually getting up from his seat to follow the person who was undoubtedly his target out into the street. After a moment of deliberation, Jason got up as well, making his own way towards the door. His instincts were screaming at him, telling him that he was making one of the most stupid moves of his career, but there was something else inside him, a remnant of the cold, emotionless man he used to be, that wanted to see if this kid was as good as his intuition said he was. He carefully followed the young man, noticing that he moved with grace and power of a large cat as he easily navigated through the maze of alleyways that made up that part of town.

It was quiet as Jason followed the young man and his prey through the streets—unnaturally quiet; the kind of quiet that one only experienced in the moments before a kill. The foreboding and anticipation became almost a physical presence in the oddly deserted streets, as if the city itself knew what was about to happen and was warding off witnesses. The young assassin and his target disappeared beyond the next corner, and it wasn't long before the sounds of struggle reached his ears. They did not last long before a ringing silence took their place, and by the time Jason reached the corner, the target was dead.

The end had come swiftly for the young man's quarry. One sharp twist of the neck while he was busy unlocking the door to his apartment and he was lying in a lifeless heap on the ground. The young man stepped back from the crumpled body, surveying his work dispassionately while Jason silently admired his skill. His target hadn't even seen him coming. He deliberated for a moment, whether or not he should slip away or make himself known, but the young man's eyes looked to the shadows where he had been hiding before he had the chance to make up his mind.

"You can come out now," he said calmly, as if the other assassin's presence did nothing to phase him, "I'm rather curious to know why you've been following me." Yet the voice was the devoid of the curiosity its owner claimed to have.

Jason stood frozen for a moment, berating himself for being detected, before he decided that the best course of action was to go along with the young man's demands for now. In a pinch he could probably fight his way out, though there was now no doubt that this confusing and oddly familiar young man ranked among the best of their kind.

The young man raised his eyebrows as Jason stepped out from the shadows. "Well?" he prompted.

Jason shrugged and leaned against the wall of the alleyway. He didn't have much of a defense, but he was careful to give nothing away. "I was in the area," he replied vaguely. "There was something about you that tipped me off. So, against my better instincts, I followed."

The young man frowned at this, obviously displeased at Jason's ambiguous answer. The two assassin's proceeded to enter a tense stand off, neither sure of the other's intentions, but unwilling to strike unless it was absolutely necessary.

Jason could practically feel the blonde's gaze as the younger assassin studied him intently and he couldn't help the feeling of dismay when he noticed the shock and recognition light the other man's eyes.

"You're Jason Bourne," the younger man murmured quietly.

Jason frowned. "Yes," he answered tersely as he turned to leave. "I would appreciate it if you didn't let any one know I was here," he added, hoping that the man was freelance, and not connected to any government agencies that could cause him trouble. His instincts were screaming for him to get out of there before the situation could escalate any further.

"Wait!"

It was the sheer desperation in the young man's voice that got to him. It was the voice of a man who had suddenly dropped all of his defenses, and the abrupt change from the guarded operative to a man at his most vulnerable stopped in his tracks.

"Yes?" he asked hesitantly, without turning around.

"How'd you do it?" The younger man asked, the same desperate edge to his tone.

Jason turned his head to look over his shoulder, his curiosity piqued for the moment. "Do what?" he replied.

"Disappear. Fall off the grid. Get _out_."

Jason slowly turned around so that he was once again facing the younger operative and studied his face with a more critical eye. The man's desperation was clear in his expression, and with his guard down it was easy to see the pain and weariness in his eyes. It struck him suddenly that this kid was probably in a position similar to his own; at the top of his game, but unable to escape the world that had sucked him in and refused to let go.

"What's your name?" he asked curiously.

There was a moment of hesitation before the blonde replied. "Alex Rider."

The name turned on the proverbial light bulb in Jason's head. Even with his best efforts to stay away from the underworld, news of MI6's top operative had trickled down to him, though he was nothing like Jason had expected him to be. "Rider," he murmured to himself, as he studied Alex, only now understanding the reason for the similarities, "You're John's kid aren't you?"

Alex tensed slightly at the sound of his father's name. "You knew him?" he asked warily, not sure whether he wanted that to be the case or not.

"I met him a few times," Jason replied. "Mostly when he was in Deep Cover. We didn't have all that much to do with one another though, since he was Special Ops and I was Black. Our paths seldom crossed. He was a good man though, one of the best."

"So I've heard," Alex replied bitterly.

"You've heard?" Jason asked, pulled out of his memories by the odd reply.

"He's dead," replied flatly. "My parents' pane blew up on their way to France. Scorpia. I wasn't even a year old."

Jason swore quietly under his breath. News about how John's Deep Cover assignment had panned out had never reached him, and he was genuinely sorry to hear that the man had died. He wondered what had caused things to go so terribly wrong, since he knew that the man's cover had been airtight.

"And Ian?" he asked.

"Dead. Killed on assignment."

Jason noted the hollowness of Alex's eyes and the smooth emotionless mask that had slid back in place the moment their talk had turned towards his family. The paradox confused him, and he finally voiced what had been bothering him for so long.

"You're young enough to be a rookie, but everything about you says that you've got more experience than people twice your age." He stated, no hint of the implied question in his tone.

Alex's eyes seemed to become slightly unfocused as he stared at a point just above Jason's right shoulder. "I never wanted this life," he said. "But MI6 didn't give me much of a choice. I grew up fast, and in a violent environment. I did what was necessary to ensure my survival and preserve what was left of my sanity."

Jason shuddered at the hollow and emotionless tone with which Alex confessed how he had found himself in his current position. He was appalled with the callousness of the British Security Service he didn't need to know the details to realize that Alex's position was probably much worse than his own had been. Even he, who knew the dirty workings of the international security organizations better than anyone, could not imaging them sinking to that depth.

The two assassins were snapped out of their individual musings by the sound of a commotion happening several streets away. Alex looked down at the nearly forgotten body lying at his feet and took a couple of steps backwards.

"We should go," he said. "We've already lingered here too long."

...

Alex and Jason walked silence as they navigated their way though the city's dirty alleyways, each to consumed with their own thoughts for conversation and both aware that anything of importance was not safe to say while in such an unsecure area.

There was underlying sense of tension in the silence that enveloped the two men. It was rare for two of their kind to work together for any length of time, and trust between assassins was even harder to come by. Each was burdened with secrets that were dangerous to them if spread to the wrong people, yet the situation they found themselves in required some level of trust. They had established a common ground, but it was still unknown of it would with stand the test of time.

Jason was contemplating the choice before him. He could either leave as soon as possible— avoiding what would undoubtedly become an extremely messy and precarious situation— and continue to live his life in the relative peace that he managed to scrape together, or he could stay and help, throwing his lot in with Alex and doing everything he could to get the younger man out.

Logic and self preservation would dictate that he took the first course of action, but loyalty nagged at him to throw his lot in with the kid. He couldn't in good conscience leave Alex in the clutches of an organization that was clearly destroying him little by little, dooming him to a life that neither of them had chosen.

It didn't help that Alex was the son of an old friend, someone Jason himself had looked up to. John would have killed him if he left the man's only son in MI6's power. Jason hadn't known the MI6 Deep Cover Agent very well, but he did know, unequivocally, that this was not a life that he would have wanted for Alex.

Alex was musing over the fact that things seemed to be panning out in his favor for once in his life. Sure, he had the luck of the devil, but it tended to kick in only when he needed it to stay _alive_. The NSA had always sent out alerts to all of the major intelligence agencies every time Bourne had appeared on the radar, but MI6 had always been careful to make sure that Alex didn't find out until the former assassin had fallen back off the grid, knowing that if Alex caught wind of Bourne's location, he would have sought the man out himself.

And _of course_, they couldn't allow their best agent and favorite puppet to escape.

Yet, in the end, Alex hadn't had to seek Jason out. By some stroke of luck they had been the same seedy bar at the same time, and Alex let him self pray, for the first time in a long time, to a God he didn't believe in, that maybe, just _maybe_, this would be the turn of fortune he needed in order to get _out_.

Maybe he could finally shake himself of the crippling plague that was MI6 for good.

Alex led Jason to the small room that he had rented for the duration of his stay in Jakarta, knowing that it would be the safest place for them to talk. The room was small, with only the minimum furniture and a cramped attached bath. The dingy, yellowed walls were free of any kind of adornment and the dirtied yellow curtains blocked the artificial light of the Jakarta nightlife from filtering into the room. A single lamp, sitting on a small wooden bedside table, illuminated the room with the dim, yellow glow of a tungsten bulb. The linens on the double bed matched the curtains, and from their scratchy feel, it was clear that they were chosen for their price rather than comfort. They were unruffled, as if the bed had been used infrequently, if at all.

Jason sat on the bed, looking over the room as Alex stepped into the closet-sized bathroom, to wash his hands of his latest kill. The older man winced slightly at his own memories of the feeling that each kill used to leave behind, as if there was blood on your hands, regardless of how clean the target's death had been. Generally one became desensitized to it are the gained more experience, but in hindsight, with a clear mind, the guilt tended to come back full force.

The ex-assassin shook his head and returned his attention to his study of the room as the sound of running water and furious scrubbing filtered through from the washroom. He noted the impersonal nature of room, knowing that Alex, like any assassin worth his salt, had purposely kept it that way. The only sign that the room was even in use was the small black suitcase that stood in a corner next to a rickety chair— which he would bet the younger man had slept in more often than the bed— and the handgun that Alex had tossed onto the chair upon entering the room.

Jason was broken out of his observation by the sound of the water being cut off in the other room and Alex soon emerged, drying his hands a small towel that had seen better days. The blonde walked over to the chair, stopping to toss the gun onto his suitcase before settling down on the creaky chair and leaning back.

"So," he drawled. "I never thought I'd run into _you_ while I was here. I was under the impression that you kept a low profile, which begs the question; what are you doing in backstreet Jakarta?"

Jason shrugged non-commitaly. "Ran into a couple of NSA assets on Sumatra. I had to move quickly, and a city of nearly eight million people was the best place to get lost while I figured out where I was going next." He looked up studying Alex carefully as he said his next words, knowing that it was imperative that the young man understood. "Freedom isn't easy," he warned. "It's a whole lot of running, staying in one place as long as you can and then packing up and moving on any time it looks like someone might know where you are. Peace and quiet never stays for long."

Alex sighed wearily. "I know," he replied seriously. "But anything is better than the hell I'm living in now."

"If you don't mind me asking," Jason said with a sidelong glance. "How _did_ you end up in this situation?"

Alex paused, years of experience warning him not to reveal any personal information if it could be helped, yet at the same time he knew that he would need to give Jason _something_ if they were going to get anywhere. "Ian had been training me to take his place since I was able to walk," he replied tiredly, choosing to look at the floor rather than the other man. "I was only fourteen when he died, and MI6 was quick to take advantage of their newly acquired legal guardianship of me. Not three weeks after his funeral, I was completing his last assignment."

"And what is it that you do for them?" Jason asked, though he had a pretty good idea already.

Alex leaned back again, turning his gaze to look straight into the ex-assassin's eyes. "Whatever is needed," he replied darkly. "espionage… _cleaning_… _negotiating_... anything that they believe could benefit from my, ahh…_ expertise_."

Jason sucked in a quick breath at Alex's revelation. Brainwashing agents was one thing, but using teenagers for the types of jobs the blonde was implying was a whole different level of wrong. "Shit," he swore quietly to himself. There was no way he could back out of this situation in good conscience, yet he was loath to think about the consequences of getting involved.

"You do realize that they'll never stop hunting either of us?" Alex asked, as if he knew the turn the older man's thoughts had taken.

"I know," Jason sighed, ironing his face with the palms of his hands. There was a moment of quiet before the ex-assassin looked back up, the look in his eyes alerting Alex to the fact that he had come to a decision.

"Alright, let's see what you have to work with."

* * *

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	3. Part II

**Hello there!**

**God, it's been a while. Does moving into college count as a valid excuse? Anyway, here is the next installment of FCF. Thanks a million to prone2dementia for BETA-ing this chapter. I've seen the state that it was in without her and it was Not Pretty. (When did I get so bad at editing?)**

**

* * *

**

**MISO Headquarters; London, England- 1845 hours (GMT/UTC)**

"Tulip."

Tulip Jones looked up from her paperwork as her personal secretary stuck his head into her office on the sixteenth floor of the Royal and General Bank and raised an eyebrow in silent question. She had dozens of case files to sort through and was not happy to have been disturbed.

"Was there something you needed, Kevin?" she asked, something in her tone warning her twenty-three-year-old assistant that he had better have a good reason for disturbing her.

Kevin stepped further into the room, holding a fax paper in front of him. "This just came though from the NSA ma'am," he said. "They got a lock on Bourne's location."

Tulip took the paper and Kevin retreated out of the office without a word. The Head of Operations looked over the fax with a professional yet detached interest, her eyes scanning over the familiar picture as she mused over whether or not the NSA would finally be able to catch their troublesome rogue assassin.

Halfway down the page, Tulip encountered a sentence that stopped her in her tracks. Nothing seemed to move in the office for a moment before she surged out of her seat and strode from the room, heading for another office at the end of the hall. She bypassed the Chief Executive's scrambling secretary, ignored the woman's protests about interrupting the man's current meeting, and flung open the office door.

"Alan, we have a problem," she said hurriedly, before the older man had a chance to react.

For a moment, the Chief Executive looked between Tulip and the politician that he had been talking with before he spoke.

"Charles, do you mind stepping out for a minute?" he asked politely. He waited for the man to leave before he spoke again. "What is it, Tulip?"

"Bourne's been spotted," she replied.

"I don't see why—"

"He's in Indonesia," Tulip elaborated before he had a chance to voice his displeasure. "The latest report said he's headed toward Jakarta," she continued, as she handed the fax over.

"Jakarta?" Alan asked in alarm, as he took the fax from her. "But that's where Alex—"

"Is stationed," Tulip finished. "I know."

Blunt spent only a few seconds mulling over the situation before he came to a decision. "Contact Director Alexander(1)," he ordered, "and pull Rider out. If Rider finds Bourne, there's no telling what the pair of them will do."

Tulip nodded and strode out of the room, leaving the Chief Executive to sit at his desk, consumed by his thoughts. Rider and Bourne were forces to be reckoned with in their own right, and he didn't want to contemplate what would happen if the two of them joined forces.

**Jakarta, Indonesia- 0200 hours (JT/UTC+7)**

"Passports? False identification?"

"I've got a few that MI6 aren't aware of."

"Money?"

"The accounts in Switzerland. All under different aliases."

"You'd do good to spread it out. Accounts are too easy to track."

"So what's your method?"

"Lockers. Keeping a supply of cash in one of those long-term storage lockers you find at airports and train stations in major cities across the globe. I mean, the accounts are great for storing larger sums of money, but at least, if they are found out or frozen, you'll have plenty of cash on hand from an untraceable source. Also, keep a good amount on you in a few different currencies, though not enough to attract too much attention. You never know when you'll need it, where you'll end up, or how fast you'll have to move."

Alex considered Jason's advice. "Good point. I'll make a withdrawal before we leave."

Jason nodded in approval. "Great. Now, tracking devices. You need to get rid of anything they can track: cell phones, credit cards, anything else that they could trace to you."

Alex chose to give Jason a non-verbal answer, reaching into a back pocket and removing his wallet. He rifled through it, removing his credit cards and driver's license. "Might as well get rid of them all," he muttered as he snapped the plastic cards into pieces. He then reached into his backpack and rummaged around at the bottom. After a moment, he came out with a lighter and a plastic bag containing a second passport, driver's license, and other papers that would be necessary to back up an alias.

"MI6 doesn't know about this one," he said as he slipped the new card and license into his wallet. "I always carry an emergency set around, just in case I end up in a bind. The rest of them are in a lock box in Zurich, though, so they'll be a bit tougher to get to. I'll lose the phone when we get out of here."

Jason nodded in understanding as Alex slipped his wallet back into his pocket. It made sense; after all, he too had stored the majority of his passports in a Swiss bank box.

"That's it?" he asked, "Are you sure that they don't have any kind of tracker on you?"

"They tried," Alex answered cryptically as he moved into the bathroom. There, he placed the cards and papers he had removed in the sink. A flick of the lighter later, and they went up in flames. The acrid smell of burning plastic soon filled the small space.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jason asked, mildly exasperated by the vague answer.

"When I resisted—rather violently mind you—they decided that it wasn't worth losing their best agent over something as trivial as a tracking device," Alex clarified from his place in the small bathroom. "I guess they realized that the fact that I hate the people I'm working against more than I hate MI6 would have to be enough of an insurance policy."

The sound of running water was heard for a moment as Alex doused the small blaze. The spy then tossed the charred and unrecognizable remains in the room's small trashcan and came to stand at the threshold of the room. He leveled his gaze at Jason, face set in a serious expression.

"You do realize that I have a _lot_ of enemies," he warned the older man. "I've pissed off more people than I can easily keep track of, and it won't just be MI6 and the NSA chasing us after we pull this stunt."

"I figured as much," Jason sighed, internally cringing at the mess he had managed to get himself into. He shook the sentiment off though. They had a lot to get done and time was short. "Now we just have to figure out how we're getting off this island," he sighed, silently cursing himself for becoming complacent in the first place. Islands often provided the isolation that was necessary to hide successfully, but they could be deathtraps if a person didn't get off them before his location was compromised.

Alex opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the buzz of his cell phone as it vibrated against the wood of the bedside table. Both men froze for a moment, eyeing the unassuming object with suspicion, before Alex crossed the room and picked it up.

"Rider," he answered it, his tone clipped and professional.

Silence for a moment, as he listened to the person on the other end.

"All right. You can expect me by tomorrow night," he replied tersely to whatever request had been made, and hung up without another word. He glanced at Jason as he stowed the device away. "They know you're in Jakarta," he informed the ex-assassin. "They're pulling me out under the pretense of some emergency they need me to take care of back on the continent."

"We don't have much time then."

"No, we don't," Alex answered as he gathered his things. "And if they know you're here, it means they've already dispatched their closest assets. They're going to be watching all points of entry and exit like a hawk."

"Then I guess it's time we figured out how we're getting off this island."

**NSA/CSS Headquarters; Fort Meade, Maryland- 1415 hours (EST/UTC-5)**

The ringing of a phone cut through the tense silence of the Director's office at the Headquarters of the National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland, startling the room's sole occupant out of the contemplative state he had been in. After a long moment, in which the man rubbed his temples tiredly and sighed, he lifted the phone out of its cradle and held it to his ear.

"Director Alexander," he stated, his tone edging toward short. He had been irritable ever since a few of his agents had gotten wind of Jason Bourne's location. The former assassin was an ever present thorn in his side, a loose end that he was anxious to tie up regardless of whether the man's intentions were harmless or not. From the looks of it, Bourne was about to slip though the Agency's fingers yet again, and that prospect had worn greatly on his patience.

"_Director Alexander,"_ the voice on the other end of the line answered with a thick British accent. _"This is Tulip Jones from MI6. We received your fax concerning the current location of Jason Bourne and we believe that we may have a potentially compromising situation on our hands."_

Alexander's back straightened at the mention of his most troublesome ex-operative, a small sliver of dread overtaking him as he wondered what was important enough that the SIS would get involved with the capture of a foreign fugitive.

"Yes?" he prompted the woman, willing her to continue.

"_It has come to our attention that Bourne's predicted path places him in the same city as one of our operatives. An operative who will most certainly defect if he comes into contact with Bourne." _Jones said, her tone belying the urgency of the situation.

"Which operative?" Alexander asked in trepidation, his mind racing though the consequences of Bourne teaming up with a second operative.

"_Our best agent, one Alex Rider,"_ Jones answered. _"We're working on pulling him out of the area, but if Rider meets Bourne, there is no question that he will defect. With two operatives of their caliber working together, the danger to the national security of both of our countries could be—"_

"—Devastating," Alexander finished, before spitting out a string of expletives. "Thank you for informing me, Mrs. Jones," he said hurriedly. "I'll have my best working to track down Bourne, but I'll leave it to you to get your agent out of there. We've already dispatched assets to Jakarta to take Bourne out as soon as we confirm his location, but we'll be preparing for the worst. We will not be unwilling to take your man out if necessary."

"_I wouldn't expect anything less,"_ Jones answered. _"Rider is extremely dangerous and he has access to some of the most sensitive state secrets we have. We cannot afford for him and Bourne to establish any kind of contact. We will keep you updated on our side of the situation. I expect you to do the same."_

The sound of a phone being hung up signaled the abrupt end of the call and the Director looked at the device in his hands in shock for several moments. Eventually, he shook himself out of his growing panic and swiftly dialed his secretary. He didn't give the man time to answer before he started speaking.

"Get me Pam Landy," he snapped, knowing that this decision could lead to serious consequences. It was well known that the woman disapproved of how the NSA had dealt with their rogue assassin in the past, but she was the one that knew Bourne the best, and therefore had the best chance of finding him.

_Officially_, the NSA dealt strictly with signals intelligence and did not participate in any form of human intelligence gathering activities. _Unofficially_ however, the NSA provided a command structure for a whole host of black operations programs that, under the former Director Ezra Kramer, had been known as Blackbriar. Past confrontations with Bourne had culminated in the exposition of the agency's illicit programs with Landy's aid.

The scandal had taken months to pass, and it had been excessively difficult for Alexander, who had been involved in many of the agency's under-the-table programs from the start, to smooth things over and get the NSA's clandestine operations back on line under a new umbrella program. Even now, the NSA was subjected to increased scrutiny.

Alexander knew that now, with Bourne's and Rider's possible alliance, everything was once again at risk of being exposed.

Eventually, the Director was broken out of his musings by the sound of someone firmly knocking on his door. He replied with a short 'come in,' and the door was opened to reveal Pamela Landy.

"Pam," he greeted her.

"Kieth," Landy replied with a terse nod. "Was there something you needed me for?" she asked, closing the door behind her but only taking a few steps into the room.

"Why don't you sit down, Pam," the Director replied, not at all looking forward to the discussion he was about to have.

Landy gave the Director a suspicious look as she took a seat. There was something decidedly _off_ about this meeting.

The Director shifted uncomfortably under Landy's suspicious gaze for a moment, trying to decide the best way to address the issue at hand. Finally, he decided that direct was the best way to go.

"Bourne's been spotted in Indonesia."

The effect of the Director's words was immediately seen in the way Landy's expression hardened, and the corners of her lips turned down in a frown.

"You're on about Bourne _again_?" she asked with disapproval. "For the love of God, Kieth, leave the man alone."

"We can't." the Director replied, his own irritation beginning to color his tone. "As long as he is out there, Bourne remains a threat. He—"

"_A threat_?" Landy interrupted sharply.

"Yes! Have the problems that he's caused for us completely escaped your notice?"

"Problems that were created because we failed to leave him alone! What else was he supposed to do—let us kill him without raising a finger in his own defense?"

"Do you not remember him breaking into our offices in New York City? Do you not remember that, _with your help_, he exposed some of our most sensitive operations?"

"_Somebody_ had to blow the whistle, Kieth. Those operations were far outside our jurisdiction. How was it okay that we were employing assassins to take out people that, in many cases, were _United States citizens_?

"They were threats—"

"Bullshit. That doesn't give you the right to kill them. As for Bourne, he was an _amnesiac_, and instead of trying to figure out what the hell he was doing as he tried to figure out who the hell he was, we jumped the gun and decided to kill him. How could you have expected the situation to end up differently than it did? We _made_ him a fugitive, Kieth, and we only make it worse for ourselves every time we decide not to leave him alone."

"Good intentions or not, the man is still a threat."

"Have you not been listen—"

"Alex Rider."

The abrupt insertion of the new name into their heated argument brought Landy to a halt. "What?" she asked, no longer understanding the direction that their dispute was taking. The confusion immediately cooled and solidified the tension in the room. It was still there, but no longer as close to boiling point as it had been seconds previously.

"I'm sure you've heard of him," Director continued grimly. "He's a legend within the intelligence circles. Unfortunately for us, he's also a potential loose cannon."

"I don't see what an MI6 operative has to do with catching Jason Bourne," Landy replied, becoming increasingly frustrated with the Director's elusive talk.

"He's in Jakarta," Alexander answered. "And that's right along Bourne's last known direction of travel. I just talked to the Brits. If Rider finds Bourne, he'll defect, no question."

"So you want me to track him down, despite the fact that the odds that these two men will meet are incredibly miniscule in a city of over _eight million people_."

"We can't take that risk, Pam."

"So you're just going to kill him? What is wrong with you, Kieth? Why do you all find it so difficult to let the issue drop and leave Bourne alone? Don't you realize that he's only a threat if you do something to provoke him?"

"Like I said, Pam, it's a risk we can't take. Find him. You're the one that knows him the best. Track him down."

"But—"

"_That's an order_, Pam."

**Jakarta, Indonesia- 0230 hours (JT/UTC+7)**

"We're going to have to island hop," Alex mused as the two men pored over a small map. "You managed to get here under the radar, though there wasn't much question in your projected path of travel. We can catch the ferry to Mentok and then pay someone to get us to Singapore without going through customs. Once we're on the mainland, it should be relatively easy to disappear."

"We'll have to move quickly though," Jason commented. "The hardest part will be getting out of Jakarta. They'll be looking for us—well, me—at every point of entry or exit by now, and they'll be after you the moment they realize that you're not boarding a flight bound for the UK."

"We'd better get going then," Alex replied, picking up his pack and slinging it over his shoulders as he turned toward the door. "It will be better for everyone if we get moving _before_ the NSA gets an asset in place."

Jason quickly stood up and followed Alex out the door, careful not to touch anything as they had already wiped down the small room to erase any fingerprints. He bypassed Alex— the younger man paused to return the room key to the building's tenant— and stepped out onto the narrow street.

The early hours that hung between the end of the night and the pre-dawn hours had crept up on them as they had strategized. There were few people out in the open in their current part of town and there was a moment of quiet before the people began to wake and start a new day. Jason listened to the steadily increasing noise of general bustle of the city as he leaned against the dilapidated building and tried to quell his growing unease. He was getting uncomfortable with being in the city for so long, especially since he knew that he had assets on his tail. He knew that they couldn't afford to delay any longer if they wanted to get off the island without too much of an uproar. He breathed a mental sigh of relief as Alex exited the building soon after and began walking as fast as he could towards the more habituated parts of the city without drawing attention to himself.

"We need to move quickly," he reiterated as Alex fell into step beside him. "Our window of opportunity is closing fast."

Alex nodded silently as the pair turned a corner onto a busier street. By unspoken agreement, they headed toward the train station, both knowing that it would be the fastest way to get to the port and that the sheer number of people would be easier to disappear amongst, even at such an odd hour, if they happened to be spotted.

Minutes later, they were stepping into a crammed train, assessing their surroundings and the other passengers discreetly, both extremely aware that any of the hundreds of people that they passed could be looking for them.

It was an uncomfortable ride, as they were forced to stand pressed tightly up against the many other commuters that they shared the cramped train car with, the heat of so many bodies amplifying the smell of sweat in the humid night air. Despite the tension of the situation, neither of them showed any sign of stress or discomfort, each far too used to eluding pursuit to let their emotions betray them.

Finally, they reached the station nearest to the docks and disembarked onto the crowded street. The pair continued to move casually through the streets, weaving though the mass of people and vehicles that filled the roads. They had been walking for about ten minutes when Alex leaned minutely towards his companion.

"We're being followed," he muttered.

The other man tensed slightly at Alex's words, though he made sure that his body language didn't give anything away as the pair continued to walk as if nothing had changed. "Where?" he asked, needing to know the location of their pursuers, but also knowing that it would be foolish to look back.

"Two-hundred meters back, the other side of the street," Alex replied quietly. "There are two of them. We picked them up right outside of the train station."

Jason nodded. "Do you think there are more of them?"

Alex glanced at the two men out of the corner of his eye, before he returned his attention to the road ahead of him. "One of them is using a cell phone, which is bad for us even if he isn't calling in backup."

"Did you lose _your _phone?" Jason asked suddenly, remembering that MI6 would undoubtedly use it to try to track them.

"Ditched it back at the hotel. I'll get a prepaid one in Mentok."

"Good. We'll split up then," Jason decided. "We can meet up at the intersection of Jalan Padamarang and Jalan Penambangan (2) out on the shipping docks. The ferry isn't far from there. Do you think you can be there in an hour-and-a-half?"

"Easily," Alex confirmed grimly as he discretely pointed out a pocket of more dense traffic ahead of them with a jerk of his chin. They could hopefully split without being noticed. He waited until a large truck rumbled by, temporarily cutting off their pursuers' line of sight before turning to Jason. "I'll be seeing you then," he said, before disappearing into the crowd, leaving the other man to do the same.

It was evident that their pursuers had noticed when, within moments, there was a disturbance in the crowd as the two men tailing them began to push roughly through the press of people in order to locate their missing quarry.

* * *

**(1) Actual current Director of the NSA/CSS**

**(2) I **_**think**_** these were street names near the ferry (or where I think the ferry was). Anything I know of the layout of the city (which is, admittedly very, very little) is based on studying the satellite imagery on Google Maps, and hoping I'm interpreting it right. I'm not good with cities, so my description of Jakarta as a city is nearly entirely based on imagination. **

**Also: Information on times zones- there's a link on my profile. The timeline in the story is continuous, but the time stamp for each location is stated in accordance to **_**that location's **_**time zone. It can be a bit confusing at first. (It was for me)**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	4. Part III

**Hey people!**

**So I thought I'd post this update before I disappeared into some dark, damp cave for the weekend (that's right I'm going caving!). So I will have underwater and underground conquered and then I can turn my attention to the air (that is of course what my University's aviation club is for— can you see my adrenaline junkie side surfacing?)**

**Anyway… back to Alex and Jason, I believe we last left them with two NSA people on their backs. **

**Thanks to iamlordmoldyshorts for being an awesome BETA reader. **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or the Bourne series. Enough said.**

**

* * *

**

**NSA/CSS Headquarters; Fort Meade, Maryland- 1500 hours (EST/UTC-5)**

Pam Landy walked briskly into the room full of analysts that the Director had put at her disposal to find Jason Bourne. Internally, she was fuming at the man's refusal to let the matter, and the man, go. Even more, she found herself furious with the fact that even with the scandals and the intense scrutiny that had come out the agency's last encounter with the former assassin, the corruption in the system seemed to be just as bad as it had always been. Based on the Director's reaction to their latest lock on Bourne's location, she had a strong feeling that the man had been quick to reinstate many of the black ops programs that she had risked her job to shut down.

And the business with MI6. Alex Rider was a legend in the intelligence circles; the British organization had done little to hide the age at which the young man had started working with them from the other agencies. Their use of a teenager in such dangerous situations disgusted her just as much as the NSA's deployment of assassins against American citizens.

Landy gritted her teeth tightly for a moment before she addressed the room, unwilling to do the job that she had been assigned, but unable to get out of it.

"Listen up, people," she said, commanding the attention of every analyst in the room. "Our target is Jason Bourne. Recent intelligence has placed him in Jakarta, where it is suspected that he will make contact with a high level MI6 spy, Alex Rider." Landy frowned distastefully at the half-truths and speculations that she rattled off as their 'official' reason for pursuing Bourne. She continued on despite her internal ire. "This meeting constitutes a direct threat to the national security of both Britain and the United States, so it is imperative that we find him. Keep in mind that you are looking for two of the most elusive targets that you will ever track."

The room remained silent as the analysts continued to look at Landy for moments after she finished speaking. Finally, she grew impatient with the lack of reaction. A bit of her frustration leaked into her voice as she addressed them again.

"Lets move it, people!" she shouted, annoyance clear in her tone. "I want everything we have on Jakarta: call screening, CCTV, customs. We've got people on the ground, waiting to move in, so find me Jason Bourne."

There was a sudden flurry of movement as the analysts finally reacted to her orders and the computers all over the room came to life.

"I want Rider's phone tapped," Landy called out after a few minutes of activity. "His people should be pulling him out of the area, but we'll need to know if he does anything unexpected."

An analyst to her right pulled up the phone records and confirmed that he spy had received a call from MI6 minutes beforehand, but there hadn't been any activity on his line since. Fifteen minutes later they received a call that Bourne had been spotted outside a train station near the Port and that he wasn't alone. Landy called for the CCTV from the station to be pulled up on the big screen as she searched the sea of faces for the familiar face for the ex-assassin.

"There," she said eventually, pointing out a man in the middle of the crowd. "And who's that next to him? Is that Rider? Come on people, I need conformation here!" she yelled as an analyst quickly brought a picture if the MI6 agent up on the screen beside camera footage. Landy swore as she realized that the man beside Bourne was, in fact, Alex Rider.

"What are you doing, Jason?" she asked quietly, even as she picked up the phone, obligated to give the Director the bad news.

**MISO Headquarters; London, England- 2015 hours (GMT/UTC)**

The harsh sound of a phone ringing split the stale air of the office on the sixteenth floor of the Royal and General Bank, only to be quickly stopped when the gray man sitting behind the desk picked up the offending object.

"Blunt," he answered tersely.

"It's Alexander."

The voice coming out of the speaker was gruff and tired, and the Chief Executive of Special Operations immediately knew that the Director of the NSA had bad news for him.

"We found Bourne," the man started.

"But?" Blunt prompted, already knowing from the other man's tone that a 'but' was coming.

"But we also found Rider. They were spotted leaving a train station near the ports together."

In a rare display of emotion, Blunt swore. He knew that he had just lost his best operative—even worse, one that was privy to the majority of the SIS's secrets. He quickly reigned himself in though, regaining his cold, calculating demeanor as had considered his quickly slimming list of options. He knew that meeting Bourne would have wrought an irreversible change in Rider. Now that the young man had decided to cut loose there was nothing that could reel him back in. And that left Blunt with a problem since Alex was a proverbial well of information that could now potentially go to the highest bidder.

"Kill him," he decided. "If your assets get the shot, take it. Just make sure he's actually dead, or knowing him, he'll come back for blood."

"You're sure about this?" Alexander asked, though there was no surprise about how quickly the Chief Executive could turn on his best agent.

"Absolutely. There's no way we can win him back now, and we can't leave him out there with what he knows."

"What do you think they're planning?"

"I don't know, but I don't want them alive long enough to find out." With that abrupt statement, Blunt slammed the receiver onto its cradle and stood from behind his desk. He walked slowly out of his office, his body language almost that of a condemned man as he made his way to his second-in-command's office. He didn't bother to knock as he walked in to find Tulip on the phone with one of the organization's many contacts.

"We've lost Rider," he told her as she looked up from her desk and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. His voice taking on a rare note of an emotion that bordered on exhaustion. "I gave Alexander permission to have his assets take Alex out."

Tulip nodded, her lips forming a hard line as she too considered the situation they found themselves in. "He has enough information to tear this whole organization and half the government down," she agreed. "We can't afford to have him out there as a loose end."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Blunt admitted. "We created one of the most dangerous men in the world and now we've lost control of him. It's like the beginning of the Bourne scandal all over again."

"And if he does manage to get what he knows out there before the assets bring him down?"

Blunt stared hard at his second-in-command for a moment, letting a tense silence settle between them. They both knew the answer to Tulip's question, though neither wanted to make the facts a reality by putting them into words. After several minutes, Blunt licked his thin, gray lips and answered in a cracked and shaky voice.

"Then we can kiss our jobs and our freedom good bye."

**Jakarta, Indonesia- 0245 hours (JT/UTC+7)**

Alex's heart was pumping furiously in his chest as he sprinted along the narrow side street that was leading him away from the main road. The alley soon dissipated into the urban jungle of concrete and iron that made up Jakarta's enormous port. He had slipped, unnoticed, out of the crowd as soon as he could and was determined to get as far away from his pursuers as possible before they realized where he was going.

It wasn't long before he heard the telltale sound of pursuit behind him; the heavy thuds of rubber soled shoes and labored breathing of a man running full out in order to catch up with his escaping quarry. He gleaned what information he could from the noise behind him, trying to determine whatever he could about his opponent without turning around to actually look.

Turning back now would only slow him down.

First, the most basic of observations. There was only one set of footsteps, which meant that the men tailing him and Jason had split up—this was an advantage. Next, the flat, heavy note of his pursuer's footfalls. He was wearing dress shoes, not suited for running and while not a major factor, would slightly hinder his movement. He was well-built and heavy set though, which would make him difficult to bring down in a fight. Lastly, his breathing. It was labored, yes, but only so much as Alex's own. This man was fit, and from the fact that there was no change in the volume of his pursuit, he was having no trouble keeping up with the spy's breakneck pace—for the moment at least.

Alex skidded around another corner, his feet almost sliding out from under him as a result of his speed. He didn't slow down as he scanned the new street for anything that would help him shake his bothersome tail. He continued to duck and weave through the network of pathways that became ever more complex as he journeyed deeper into the maze of shipping containers and buildings, but no matter how convoluted a route he chose, his shadow remained hot on his heels.

Alex growled in annoyance as he rounded another corner. There was little that he could use to his advantage in the stark landscape that he found himself in. The sheer stacks of containers rose at least fifty feet on either side of him and the steel walls wouldn't be of much use to him unless he was to take the man and throw him bodily against them. He didn't really want to resort to hand-to-hand combat while if shaking the man was still an option. It would be messier, and in such a narrow space, there was only so much that he would be able to get away with.

Even while he was running, the cold, hard steel of his handgun was sharp in his mind as it rested against the small of his back, but if fighting wasn't yet an option, then neither was shooting. It wasn't that he was wary of using it, but killing the man would only intensify efforts to locate him in the long run, that was, if he ever_ did_ manage to fall off the grid.

After another twenty minutes of running, Alex finally emerged from the maze of containers and found himself at the waters' edge. A wide canal lined with barges of various sizes and design separated his current spit of land from the one that ran parallel to it. He looked around coolly, knowing that there would be many more useful things for him to use now that he had found his way out of the stacks.

Approaching footsteps warned him that his tail was catching up, and in a split second decision, Alex made a dash for the nearest cargo ship, running up the gangplank and in between the stacks of containers as the man came to a halt at the waters' edge.

A tense silence seemed to envelop the area as both predator and prey seemed to pause. Alex slipped around the corner of one of the stacks and out of sight, breathing deeply, but silently as he tried to recover his breath after the intensity of the chase. He watched as his pursuer walked slowly up to the gangplank of the ship, confident that he now had his quarry trapped. The sound of his shoes on the metal beneath them was ominous in the still night air.

The pause gave Alex a chance to get his first real glimpse of the man that was following him. He was the typical government 'suit,' from the black jacket and trousers with the crisp white shirt, to the dressy, yet impractical shoes on his feet. His hair, impossible as it was to tell its color in the pre-dawn light, was cut short— again for practicality rather than style. The man was obviously a low to mid-level field agent, American, originally deployed to be the eyes-on-the-street rather than the asset, but his demeanor hinted at a military background. He had the will and the ability to fight, even if it wasn't what he was primarily sent to do.

The night air was split once again by an even more ominous sound that sent Alex retreating further into the stacks, carefully making sure that he didn't run into any of the ships' crewmen as he made his way towards its more inhabited parts. There was no doubt that his pursuer meant business now that he had drawn his gun and disengaged the safety. Alex's hand twitched towards his own firearm, itching to even the playing field, but still he resisted, knowing that the situation could still be managed with brute force rather than death.

Alex continued to back slowly away from the man, making sure that his footfalls weren't audible. The situation was quickly deteriorating into a dangerous game of cat and mouse, but he didn't lose his cool, knowing that even the smallest of slip-ups would give away his location.

Eventually, Alex made it to his intended destination, just outside of the control deck. Various items were piled outside the steel door, waiting to be put away or used to repair the ship before it set out to sea once again. He scanned though the items, even as he kept the majority of his attention on the approaching man, and selected a cutting of steel pipe. He extricated it from the mess as quietly as he could and hefted it in his hand. He then hid in the shadows near the door and waited for the man to reach him.

The chase was over in seconds as Alex brought the pipe down harshly against the man's head, the force of the blow causing him to collapse, unconscious. It was brutal and unrefined, but the metal pipe got the job done. Alex was quick to catch the man's gun, preventing it from clattering noisily against the deck as the agent fell in a boneless heap at his feet. He re-engaged the safety on the gun before tucking it away with the one he already had and then hefted the unconscious man's body over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

Alex made his way off the ship as quickly as possible before hiding the man's body where it wouldn't be noticed at first glance. He took another searching look of his surroundings, ensuring that there had been no other witnesses, before he took off, jogging towards the rendezvous point.

Jason didn't waste any time melting into the crowds as Alex left his side. He trusted that the younger man could handle himself. What he had managed to gather about the spy's reputation made that clear, if nothing else.

Knowing that Alex would lead his man into the bowels of the shipping yard, Jason decided to take a more residential route which would split up their pursuers' man power as much as possible. He turned off the crowded main road and into a slightly quieter street, lined with houses where life was just beginning to stir in the pre-dawn hours. He knew that he was taking a gamble—there were plenty of ways to disappear, but at the same time, the area was more open, which made him easier to spot. He knew he needed to use the scant seconds he had to put as much distance between him and his tail as possible.

Despite the early hour, the streets were already beginning to fill with people on their morning commute to work. Jason strode purposefully among them, careful not to make any sudden or unusual movements that would draw attention to him within the crowds.

A quick glance in the side mirror of a passing scooter confirmed that he was still being followed, and the ex-assassin looked around furtively, looking for anything that could help him disappear. He waited until he had reached a more dense area of traffic, before slipping between buildings and heading into the network of narrow side streets between houses. He took a series of quick, successive turns, hoping to throw his pursuer off his trail as long as possible.

Quickening footsteps around the corner he had just turned alerted Jason to the fact that his deception had been noted, and that the pursuit proper had begun. Faced with a long alley in front of him, with no visible turn offs, Jason pushed open the door of the nearest apartment block and began scaling the steps, hoping to reach the top floor before the asset caught on to his disappearing act. He pushed open the apartment door at the top of the stairs, startling the family inside as he headed for a window facing away from the exposed street.

Jason ignored the indignant exclamations of the apartment's inhabitants as he pushed the window open and stuck his head out, twisting around to survey the side of the building above him and the overhang of the roof. Deeming the surface scalable, he pulled himself up so that he was standing on the window ledge, his back to the three-story drop below him. He reached out, grabbing the drainpipe to his right and the edge of the roof with his left, levered himself onto the red-brown tiles of the roof and took off running.

Rooftop chases were nothing new for the ex-assassin, and he knew it wouldn't be long before his pursuer realized that he had taken to the higher ground. Running out of space between himself and the edge of the roof, Jason surged forward, using the power in his legs to propel him across the gap between himself and the next building and rolled forward onto his shoulder in order to curb his momentum as he landed on the adjacent building with a shudder. He winced as he continued to move, knowing that there would be bruises from the impact for days to come.

A flurry of noise below him, alerted Jason to the fact that he had been spotted, and a quick glimpse over the side gifted him with the sight of the his tail forcing their way into the closest building, entirely disregarding its inhabitants. He continued on, jumping from building to building, looking for a good place to get down, while the other man was preoccupied with getting up. Within minutes though, the man was on a roof on the opposite side of the street, leaping from building to building in order to keep the ex-assassin in sight.

Jason stumbled slightly as the first round of bullets slammed into the roofing tiles at his feet. He slid dangerously towards the edge, using his feet to slow down his movements as he started to go over the side. He grabbed the overhang with his hands, using what was left of his momentum to throw himself through the nearest window, ignoring the sharp shattering of the glass and the shards that broke his skin as he landed heavily on the floor.

Blessedly, the apartment was empty, but the stroke of luck didn't last long, as he heard the sound of a door being forced open four stories below.

A quick glance told Jason that the room he found himself in was a bedroom, and therefore, held little that would be immediately useable as a weapon in a fight. He stepped carefully over the broken glass, holding his breath as he strained his ears in the sudden quiet. He continued to move softly though the house while tracking the movements of his pursuer as best he could. It wasn't long before he could hear the creak of the man ascending the stairs, and soon after, a dark figure emerged onto the landing, gun held at the ready in front of him.

Jason backed further into a dark alcove as he watched the man carefully clear each of the rooms. He couldn't beat a drawn weapon, so he knew that he would have to catch the man by surprise. _One who, fully prepared, awaits the unprepared will be victorious(1),_ he reminded himself, falling back on age old strategy as he readied himself to strike.

The faint creaking of hinges cut the silence in the apartment as the man slowly pushed open the door to what was the only bathroom. Jason crept forward once the man's back was turned, preoccupied with making sure that the room was truly empty, the hard surfaces and sharp corners of bathrooms were perfect for fights, since almost anything could be used either as a makeshift weapon or to knock an opponent out cold.

Quick as a snake, Jason had the man pinned against the tiled walls. He grabbed the hand that still clutched the gun, squeezing the wrist as he slammed it against the wall, forcing the man to release the firearm from his grasp. The ex-assassin was quick to kick it away as the man turned in his grasp and lashed out.

What followed was a short fight, the strikes and blocks almost too fast to follow as each man fought for dominance. It was rough and bloody, as the objects and surfaces in the room became weapons at each man's disposal. The small space severely restricted movement, making kicking—and footwork in general—nearly impossible, while also making it harder to dodge oncoming attacks.

Finally, Jason managed to slip a hand through the other's guard, quickly pressing a thumb against the carotid artery in the man's neck, causing him to pass out cold. The man fell heavily to the floor as Jason took a step back, quickly catching his breath as he surveyed the bruised and bloody body at his feet. He glanced in the now cracked mirror to his left, confirming his suspicions that he looked no better. He turned the tap on the sink, hastily rinsing the blood off of his hands and face, before he stepped out of the room without a second glance.

Once on the street, he checked his watch, noted that he had twenty minutes to make it to the docks, and took off at a brisk jog, leaving the street as if nothing had happened behind him.

**Jakarta, Indonesia- 0400 hours (JT/UTC+7)**

Alex stood in the shadow of the building situated on the corner of Jalan Padamarang and Jalan Penambangan, being careful to stay out of sight of the many dockworkers that were now trickling into the Port. The sun had truly begun to rise in the time that it took for him to shake his tail, and it had taken more care than usual to reach the RV undetected as more and more workers appeared for the early shift.

A quiet noise to his right broke his scan of the surrounding area and he glanced over to see Jason standing quietly against the side of a narrow pathway between two, buildings where the weak rays of the morning sun had yet to reach. Alex made deliberate eye contact with the older man, and Jason nodded his head slightly in greeting before slipping further into the alley. Alex waited a few moments, before emerging from the shadows and walking purposefully along the street, careful to exude an aura of belonging that would keep any onlookers from questioning his presence.

Minutes later he caught up with the ex-assassin at the other end of the corridor and leaned himself against the opposite wall. The two of them stared at each other warily for a moment, before they relaxed, each apparently satisfied that the other passed whatever assessment they had set.

"Any problems?" Jason asked eventually as he observed the docks.

"None," Alex answered. "You?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

Alex nodded in understanding and the two lapsed back into silence as they observed the comings and goings of the people around them from their shadowy hideout.

"There's a ferry to Mentok in an hour," Alex said causally after nearly ten minutes of silence.

Jason nodded in affirmation. "We'll slip into the crowd."

Alex sighed, "We might as well get out of sight for now," he said, jerking his chin towards the rusted door of the warehouse he was leaning against, the suggestion obvious in words and movements.

Jason nodded and pushed himself off the adjacent wall as Alex turned to pick the simple lock. Within minutes, the two rogue operatives had slipped into the dark space and settled in to wait until they could make their next move.

**NSA/CSS Headquarters; Fort Meade, Maryland- 1700 hours (EST/UTC-5)**

Pam Landy didn't know whether to be frustrated or relieved. Both Bourne and Rider had managed to remain elusive, taking out the men that had been tailing them and leaving them to wake, groggy and disoriented hours later. For the two professional assassins, she could only be grateful that both of the agents came out of the confrontation alive, since it meant that there was slightly less to fuel the Director's already inflated need for pursuit.

Capturing either of the ex-operatives was not something that she truly wanted to do, and the part of her that was glad for their escape had to be forcibly smothered as she reminded herself that she still had a job to do, regardless of how unpleasant she thought it was.

_At the very least,_ she thought to herself,_ I can get some kind of message to them when we manage to track down where they are. _It would hardly be the first time that she had done that. She couldn't understand why Jason was drawing so much attention to himself now, after years of successfully staying off the grid, by getting involved with such a high profile agent.

_There must be something special about Rider_, she reasoned, _else Bourne would never have gotten involved at all. _

Landy sighed as she surveyed the room of analysts that were still working at full capacity to find the two operatives, and were, as of yet, having very little luck.

"Alright, people," she said, raising her voice so that she could be heard by everyone in the busy room. "Bourne and Rider's first priority is going to be getting off the island, and by this point they probably already have. Considering their last known locations, the Port is our most likely point of exit. I want eyes on all the possible ferry destinations."

"And assets stationed at each," another voice added from behind her, its tone almost one of recrimination for not having ordered that herself.

Landy closed her eyes and prayed for patience before turning around to face Director Alexander where he stood in the doorway. "For the love of God, Alexander," she protested, "we're never going to get to the bottom of this if you keep trying to _kill _them before you even have an idea of what's going on."

"I don't care what's going on between Rider and Bourne," Alexander countered. "All I care, is to see them dead so that they can't wreak whatever havoc their planning."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Landy exclaimed, frustration getting the better of her. "Think about it, Alex—"

"I am thinking about it, Pam," the Director replied tightly. "And anyway you look at it, the two of them teaming up can't be anything but a threat."

"Bourne wouldn't have gone near Rider without a reason," Landy continued to protest. "If we can find out what that reason is then—"

"The reason is that Rider has enough information to bring down the British intelligence community single handedly," Alexander once again cut her off. "Now, I don't care what you think, Pam. Those assets are going to be on the ground and waiting for orders within the next five hours. They are going to take out Rider and Bourne, and then we are never going to speak of this again, you got that?"

Alexander turned and left before Landy could answer, leaving a stunned and silent room behind him. Landy took a few deep breaths to get her anger back under control, before she turned her attention back to the room.

* * *

**(1) Sun Tsu's **_**The Art of War**_**. Widely regarded as one of the most comprehensive guides on military strategy. A good read— if you can get past the introduction. **

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	5. Part IV

**Hey people!**

**This is the last second-to-last chapter of this fic. Thanks again to iamlordmoldyshorts for the amazing BETA reading job.**

**

* * *

**

**Java Sea- 1030 hours (JT/UTC+7)**

The ocean breeze ruffled Alex's hair as he stood on the bow of the ferry headed for Mentok, surveying the vast expanse of water that surrounded him and the break in its smooth surface on the horizon that denoted their destination. The sun was climbing high in the sky as it neared mid-day and it beat mercilessly on his skin in the muggy, Indonesian heat.

Alex closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, inhaling the heavy air, and relaxed as he concentrated on the movement of the boat, using his body to keep himself steady while it rocked continuously beneath his feet. He was still coming down off the high from the adrenalin-filled chase that had taken place early that morning—it had been a long time since he had been the prey rather than the predator, and the sudden reversal in roles had been an invigorating change. He was finally _running_, _getting out_, and that change alone was enough to make him feel more alive than he had in years.

Eventually, he felt another person come up and stand beside him. He didn't open his eyes or speak, already knowing who his companion was. The two of them continued to stand there in silence.

It was Jason who finally broke the moment. "We'll be there in three hours," he said quietly.

Alex nodded and opened his eyes to look at the approaching island. "Why did you decide to help me?" he finally asked, "You could have walked away, avoided what was obviously going to turn into a messy situation, kept yourself from being a target again. Why help?"

Jason hesitated for a moment, mulling over the question. Why _had _he gotten involved? Why _hadn't _he walked away? "We're similar in a lot of ways, I guess," he answered eventually. "The intelligence agencies had both of us in nearly unbreakable holds, bent into doing their will, with no way to protest. Using a kid as a spy, no matter how talented, is worse than anything they did to me. And it's what John would of wanted. If he was alive, I don't think he would ever have forgiven me if I had walked away."

Alex nodded in understanding and the quiet stretched between the two ex-operatives once more.

"How come you've never tried disappearing before?" Jason asked eventually. "You're the best the Brits have, it couldn't have been too hard for you. Why now?"

"For a long time, it was because I couldn't." Alex sighed. "First, it was because of Jack—my house keeper" he added, seeing that confusion on the older man's face. "She was like a sister to me, and they held her wellbeing and status in the UK over me as "incentive" to continue working for them. No matter how hard I fought them, they knew that I would comply in order to keep her safe."

"What happened to her?" Jason asked, knowing that there was more to the story.

"SCORPIA killed her shortly after I turned 15," Alex replied quietly. "I didn't put up a fight against MI6 for a while after that, for the sole reason that I knew that working with them would be the best way for me to get revenge."

"But after?"

"I was still underage, a teenager, and while I looked older than I was and I had the skills to survive by myself, I didn't have the connections to truly disappear and make it permanent. After that, I guess I just got complacent, gave up hope in a way. It's hard to imagine a life without espionage once you get started. Seeing you was the catalyst I needed in order to start fighting again."

"I guess so," Jason sighed. "I guess I can't fault you since I never would have gotten out if I hadn't gone MIA, gotten amnesia, and had the chance to look at what I was doing when not entirely under the influence of my training."

"It's all a matter of chance," Alex laughed bitterly. "If not for the strangest of meetings and circumstances, we'd still be as trapped as the day we were recruited." He shook his head and stepped away from the railing before making his way toward the cabin of the ferry.

"I guess so," Jason mused as he watched the younger man walk away. "I guess so."

**NSA/CSS Headquarters; Fort Meade, Maryland- 0130 hours (EST/UTC-5)**

The re-emergence of Alex Rider and Jason Bourne on their radar was rather sudden. One moment, the analysts were scanning through CCTV and other forms of intel. With not a clue of where their two elusive targets had disappeared to, and the next, they had shown up in Mentok, making their way towards the markets. In moments, the amount of activity in the room had increased tenfold as the analysts rushed to get the new information to their superiors and their men on the ground.

Director Alexander let out a relieved breath from where he had been pacing the length of the room, too stressed and too impatient to wait for updates on the situation from his office. He knew that with every hour that the two men remained at large, their chances of capturing them became a little less. Both were masters of deception—no one knew when they would disappear into thin air for good.

Landy, on the other hand, jumped into action from the place where she had been standing silently by the door, arms crossed and lips set in a severe frown, and began handing out directives to her analysts quickly and efficiently. However, she stopped at the utterance of three words from the man behind her."

"Activate the asset."

The Director's tone left Landy with no room to make the argument he knew was bound to come forth. The woman had been nearly as much of a thorn in the agency's side as Bourne was—the only reason she hadn't been let loose, especially after blowing the whistle during their last confrontation with the ex-assassin, was that she was just too good at finding targets that didn't want to be found.

Landy gritted her teeth against the argument that was on the tip of her tongue, knowing that it would get her nowhere. All she could do was hope that Jason's, and now Alex's impressive luck continued to hold and that they would once again, walk away the victors in the coming confrontation.

**Mentok, Bangka Island, Indonesia- 1330 hours (JT/UTC+7)**

Alex could feel that something wasn't right as soon as the two ex-operatives disembarked the ferry. He could see that Jason too was alert and looking for signs of danger by the tension in the older man's shoulders and the way that his eyes shifted expertly to points of interest around the port. Nonetheless, the two of them walked calmly with the crowd, letting the crush of people carry them away from the water's edge and further onto the docks.

"They've had plenty of time to get an asset in place," Jason muttered to his companion. "We need to be careful."

Alex nodded stiffly as he too scanned their surroundings for possible threats. Neither of them intended to go further into the city than the markets that bordered the harbor, but that was also where they expected the danger to be.

The two of them walked through the crowded streets, sparing only brief glances at the merchants' various wares, searching for what they needed, while paying close attention to the people that surrounded them. With their combined efforts, it only took fifteen minutes to identify the man on their tail.

"He's an asset," Jason muttered as they continued to weave through the mass of people.

Alex only nodded in agreement—there was something about their kind that made them easily visible to one another, if no one else. This man was not one of the inferior field agents that they had run into in Jakarta—he was a trained killer, and, to their advantage, that meant that he would be alone.

The asset pushed his way through the crowded streets of Mentok, keeping his targets in sight ahead of him as he hovered around 50 meters back. He knew that he had been spotted—he had been warned going into the assignment that it would be the hardest job he had ever taken on. He also knew that he was taking out two of his own kind—the best of his kind—which meant that the fact that he had been spotted was both inevitable and extremely detrimental to his cause.

The asset fingered the handle of his silenced Ruger LCP(1) where it laid concealed beneath his jacket as he pushed thought the crowded market. Its small size made it ideal for concealment, and therefore, it was one of his favorite pistols to carry. Yet his targets had the upper hand at the moment—even with the silencer, it was much too risky for him to take them out in such a crowded area. He scanned the area carefully, even more alert than he usually was while on assignment. He couldn't deny that this job had gotten under his skin to some degree; the stories about what each of them was capable of _alone_ had him even more wary of what they could accomplish together.

But in the end that didn't matter. Doubts could be pushed aside, legends used as intel; each target could be stripped of their identity and the connotations that came with them. Each target was only an amalgamation of flesh and bone and it was his job to destroy them.

Everything else was superfluous—it would only hinder him from doing his job to the best of his ability, and in this case, that would only lead to failure.

And failure was not an option.

Time went on as the asset followed his quarry thought the market, and as it passed, the lingering feeling of uneasiness in the back of his mind continued to grow. He had no doubt that his targets knew he was there, yet neither had made any sort of move to either confuse, distract, or incapacitate him. They only continued to walk calmly though the crowded streets.

They were too calm.

A family of unsuspecting civilians passed in front of the asset, blocking his vision for only a split second of time, yet it was enough time to let the asset know that he was in deep shit. In the short amount of time that had passed, the blonde had vanished. He hadn't just moved further into the crowd, away from his companion, he had fallen completely off the radar, and there wasn't so much of a trace to tell where he had gone.

The asset steeled himself for what he knew was likely to happen— the whole situation stunk of an ambush—yet he didn't let his body give away his increasing unease or the sudden acceleration in his thought process. He knew that the blonde wouldn't be that far away, so he had to make the choice of going after the blonde and leaving the other target to disappear, or he could deliberately walk into the trap they had set for him.

Each situation had its advantages and disadvantages. Option one would even the playing field by pitting him against only one opponent, but it would leave the other target with ample time to escape for good, while option two gave him the chance to try to turn the ambush to his own advantage and take both targets out, but left him vulnerable to a dual attack.

In the end it was a number decision.

The asset slowed his pace as he reached the place where the first of his targets had disappeared, pretending to look at the goods sold in one of the many stalls as he concentrated on the area around him. If he could take out the blonde quickly, then he still had a chance to catch up to the brunette. He took advantage of the fact that this particular merchant had many mirrors among his wares to scan the area behind him, looking at faces of everyone who passed him.

For all his alertness, he was unprepared for the blonde's strike, as quickly and unexpectedly as it came. A man in loose, dark jeans, a grey zip-up hoodie over a dark t-shirt, hat and dark sunglasses slid up beside him as his eyes had moved to scan a different part of the crowd. His attention had immediately snapped to assess the newcomer who was now examining the goods. The man looked at him with an open, friendly smile adorning his face, but it was accompanied but a sudden pain in his abdomen. The asset didn't scream as the Steel Eagle sliced into him, knocking the air out of him, and the low grunt that he did produce was covered up by the general bustle of the open marked. The man continued to smile at him in that open and inviting manner, but the asset knew that if he could see behind the dark glasses that shielded the man's eyes, he would see something very different.

No one noticed as the man slid the knife out of his victim, wiped it surreptitiously on a section of shirt underneath the asset's jacket and slid it back into a concealed holster on the inside of his jeans. The asset felt the man slide an arm around him as he started to sag, throwing it over his shoulders as if the two of them were close friends who had unexpectedly run into each other in the market. He felt himself being lead further into the stall and behind a stack of rugs before he was set down roughly in an area of the stall that was most likely, visited infrequently. The last thing he saw was the cool smirk and dark sunglasses of his attacker before his world slowly faded to black.

Alex didn't hesitate as he searched the pockets of the assassin he had just killed and dumped. He quickly found what he was looking for and his hand came out of a jacket pocket grasping a cell phone. He pocketed the device and then removed the asset's Ruger from the holster at the man's waist. Once he was done with the body, he quickly checked his clothes for blood before his stood up and walked casually out of the stall.

Once he was a safe distance away from his kill, he pulled out the pilfered cell phone and brought up the last received text message. As expected, it contained pictures of both him and Jason, including location. He hit a few buttons, sending the message that would confirm that the hit had been a success.

He dumped the stolen phone and Ruger in the next trash bin along with his hat, sunglasses, and sweatshirt and then disappeared back into the crowd.

Ten minutes later, Alex emerged from the crush of people to stand on a street corner near the docks. The man he had come to a stop next to made no indication that he was aware of the other's presence, and Alex responded in turn. After several minutes, his darker haired companion handed him a cell phone, which he pocketed without question, and then followed as Jason began to walk towards the docks.

**NSA/CSS Headquarters; Fort Meade, Maryland- 0715 (EST/UST-5)**

Director Alexander slammed the phone into its cradle with much more force than necessary in his fury with the news that had just been delivered to him though it. Five hours ago they had received confirmation from the asset that both rogue operatives had been silenced. Alexander, being the shrewd man he was, had requested that a team be deployed to get second confirmation, knowing that it wasn't beyond his troublesome ex-assassin to kill the asset and make the call himself.

His suspicions turned out to be correct when the team arrived and failed to make contact with the asset, only to find his body hours later.

Alexander knew that it would be almost impossible to find either target when they had such a great head start. Operatives of Bourne and Rider's caliber needed only a fraction of the time that they had had in order to go to ground and, as Pam had so _kindly_ informed him, they wouldn't pick up any trace of the two for months, maybe even years now. He couldn't help but imagine that there was a poorly hidden edge of smugness in the woman's tone, and that thought alone made him grit his teeth in anger.

Alexander sighed and picked up the phone that he had so recently abused and instructed his secretary on whom to call. There was a short pause as he waited for line to connect.

Eventually, the Director heard the rustle of a phone being removed from its cradle on the other end of the line and he mentally steeled himself for the conversation he was about to have.

It was time to deliver the bad news.

Pam Landy let a small, smug smile tug at the corners of her lips as she ended the short conversation with her boss. Jason Bourne had proved once again that it was best not to bother him and he, along with Rider had successfully managed to slip though the cracks, and off the NSA's radar.

With the phone call over, she turned her attention back to the room full of discouraged analysts. "Let's pack it up, people," she said, enjoying giving the order much more than one in her position should.

Landy watched as the grumbling analysts gathered their belongings and filed out of the room. She stayed for a few moments, enjoying her perceived victory before she too, made to leave.

A distinct vibration made her pause as she neared the door and she pulled out her phone to see the caller-ID displaying an unknown number. Landy smiled as she flipped the device open and held it to her ear.

She already had a good idea as to who it was.

**MISO Headquarters; London, England- 1230 (GMT/UTC) **

Tulip Jones watched from the door of the office as her boss ended his brief phone conversation with the Director of the NSA and looked up at her with an expression that was both tired and resigned. No words were needed for the Head of Operations to derive the meaning of the look and soon, she too, wore a similar expression.

"I take it he got away then," she said finally, more for the sake of finally saying it out loud rather than her actually needing an answer.

Blunt nodded his head wearily. "They both did," he sighed, thinking of the fallout that would come of Alex's defection.

Not for the first time, Blunt regretted being so lenient towards Alex's resistance of the tracking implant. Now that the man had successfully managed to fall off the proverbial map, the Chief Executive knew that it would be nearly impossible to track him down. Not only did he have the survival training of the best soldiers the UK had to offer, but he had the training of the world's best assassins. Combined with Bourne's own formidable arsenal of skills, they could quite possible disappear for good, and even if they were found, they would be nearly impossible to bring down.

Now though, their biggest fear was retribution. Neither spymaster held any doubt that, once Alex felt secure in his cover, he would do _something_ to bring down the justice that they both knew he felt they deserved.

It was now only a matter of time.

**Two weeks later; Singapore, Malaysia- 1400 hours (CCT/UTC+8)**

They had remained in Mentok only long enough to find someone willing to ferry them across the Bangka straight to Sumatra. From there they had headed up river until they had hit the city of Palembang where they had a boarded a crowded bus headed north to the Medan. They had chosen to get off at Kampar and headed back down river to the coast.

The next week had been spent island hopping, paying whoever they could get to ferry them from one island to the next, always aware of the threat that might or might not have been following them.

It came as a great relief to both Alex and Jason when the continent finally came into sight as they made the passage across the Singapore Straight from Pulau Batam to the straight's namesake city. Both ex-operatives knew that their arrival in Singapore would mark the end of the hardest part of their journey.

They spent the day in the markets, stocking up on supplies and enjoying the feeling of being on dry land once again as they navigated though the crush of people that surrounded them. They were confident that their movements had been discreet and that they were not being watched, but neither ex-operative was willing to let that make them any less alert or willing to linger in the city for too long.

Jason waited, standing on the side of a busy street as Alex finalized their purchase of an old, beat-up sedan that would be their primary mode of transportation as they made their way though South East Asia. Eventually, they would have to trade it in for something better suited to their surroundings as they made their way west, but for now, it fit their needs perfectly.

Alex eventually parted with the old man that had sold them the car and began walking towards Jason, waiving the newly acquired keys to signal the successful outcome of the deal. Jason nodded in approval, and the two of them walked slowly toward the car in question.

Neither man spoke until they were in the car and headed toward the city's main highway, the windows rolled down in a futile attempt to beat the mid-afternoon heat.

"So, where to now?" asked Jason from his place in the passenger seat. He knew that he could trust his younger companion to make the decision.

A smirk slowly spread across the now-former spy's lips as he considered the question. Both men knew that they had a couple of pit stops to make before they completely fell off the grid, but after that…the possibilities were endless.

"I think I have a couple of ideas."

* * *

**(1) Lightweight Carry Pistol**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	6. Part V

**Hey people!**

**It's been a while. Things have been crazy busy between midterm exams and my computer breaking (not cool). But it's fixed now (yeah, just in time for me to write a paper in 12 hours flat and email it to my teacher minutes before the deadline) so you can all enjoy this last chapter. I had fun writing this and I feel like it was a good jumping off point for me in terms of crossovers. I know that I have plenty more of them planned if I ever find the time to sit down and write them.**

**Thanks again to iamlordmoldyshorts for being an Awesome BETA. and t****hanks to everyone who has read and reviewed.**

**TheUlmuri**

**

* * *

**

**Five Weeks Later, Brussels, Germany**

The hotel room was quiet as Alex sat at the small desk, his concentration consumed by the letter that he was writing. A large stack of official looking manila folders sat on the desk to his right next to an empty shipping box, waiting to be filled.

The folders, which, along with several other possessions, had been retrieved from their various bank boxes in Zurich only a week before, were something that Alex had been in possession of for sometime. It was only now that he was no longer under MI6's constant watch, that he felt that he could use the information that they held for their intended purpose.

Alex finished his letter, signing it with the name of his current alias and packed it into the shipping box along with the folders. He had just finished sealing the box and begun writing out the address when Jason returned from whatever errand he had been running.

"What's that?" Jason asked, gesturing to the box that Alex had finally set aside.

"Something I've been planning for a very long time," Alex replied vaguely, a hint of a smile playing over his lips.

"And what have you been planning?" Jason asked, far too used to the younger man's circuitous talk for it to annoy him any more.

Alex laughed. "The box has reports detailing every assignment I completed for MI6 as a minor, as well as any other incriminating evidence pertaining to my employment. I've left out certain things that would be a national security hazard to have out in the open, but I think it's time the rest of the government, and the people, knew what their Security Services have been doing."

Jason only raised an eyebrow in surprise. He agreed with Alex's thinking, as it was what he himself had done with Landy's help, though he was still a little surprised that the ex-spy was handing over his file to be picked apart by the British government.

Alex shrugged and sighed. "I removed my name from all of the documents. They only refer to me as "Cub," but eventually someone is going to realize that the kid was me."

Jason nodded in understanding before walking over to his bed and picking up his bag. "We can drop the package on the way out," he said. "Do you mind wiping the place down while I check us out?"

Alex gave his silent response by pulling out a package of bleach wipes and quickly and methodically going every surface they may have touched during their short stay at the hotel. He finished swiftly and grabbed the package and his own bag before exiting the room and meeting Jason in the lobby.

As easy as it could have been to hide in Brussels, neither man felt comfortable staying in Europe. They hadn't stopped moving since they had reached the mainland, and they would probably find a place to settle down somewhere soon, but not until they got to a region a little further outside the intelligence community's sphere of influence.

...

James Hale yawned loudly as he shuffled down the hallway of his London home, his eyes lids still heavy and half closed as he slowly shook the last visages of sleep from his system. His dressing gown hung messily from his shoulders over his sleep-crumpled lounge cloths. He rubbed the side of his head tiredly as he reached the front door, causing his brown hair to stick up erratically.

With only half a mind on his task, James opened the door and reached down to grab the mail, looking out at the street as he did so. He was shaken from his stupor as his fingers came up short against a hard surface and he looked down, confused as to what it the obstruction could be.

James' muddled brain seemed to catch up with him after a couple of moments and he realized that his hand was brushing the surface of a mid side package sitting innocently in the center of his doorstep. The brown cardboard was uninterrupted except for where his address was written in small, neat handwriting on top of the box. There was no return address.

Finally aware of the his surroundings, James hastily snatched his hand away from the package and took a quick step back as he eyed the package suspiciously, his mind running quickly though the list of people who would have motive to send him an unmarked package.

It was a long list.

After leaving Brookland, James had gone to university to study international law, inspired to pursue the subject after watching one of his best friends be subjected to years of blackmail and, in his opinion, abuse. Even back then it had been painfully obvious that MI6 wasn't playing by the rules, but he had been forced to sit on the sidelines as Alex was forced into service time and time again.

With the Alex's story as motivation, James had worked relentlessly though law school and an internship, gaining practical experience and a formidable reputation as he went. At this point in his career, he was at the top of the proverbial legal food chain, and there were plenty of who wanted to knock him down.

James narrowed his eyes as he carefully scrutinized the package. Eventually, his eyes alighted on a small design scratched lightly into the corner opposite the one where that address was written. He relaxed slightly at the sight of the symbol and smirked slightly before looking around quickly and bringing the package into the house. He chuckled slightly as he shut the door with his foot as he turned around and headed back into the depths of the house.

"Ah, Alex," he muttered. "Always giving catching me when I least expect it."

James placed the package on the kitchen counter and fished a knife out of one of the drawers. He slit the tape with a deft movement and slowly pried the package open, slightly apprehensive about what he would find inside.

He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until he had let it out in one great gust at the sight of the harmless looking stack of folders. He reached into the box and pulled out the top file, curious as to what his friend had sent him.

Blinding realization hit him as he read the first few lines of the file and he knew, looking at the rest of the package, that he was in possession of Alex complete file, mission reports for every operation Alex had ever participated in was included.

The message Alex was sending him was clear. He was out, now it was up to James to make sure the right people got what had been coming to them for so long.

He relished the chance to make that happen.

**Two Years Later, Yago, Sierra Leone**

Alex ran along the riverbank, jumping over rocks and other obstacles as they appeared before him in the early morning light. His heart rate was accelerated from the exertion and even now, before the sun was truly up and heating the land, he was breaking a sweat.

Finally, after several minutes of running, Yago, the small town that he and Jason had chosen to settle down in, came into view and he slowly began to back off his pace until he was moving at a light jog.

His life had changed drastically in the two years since he had met Jason. The older man had quickly become his closest friend and mentor and his experience had been invaluable to Alex as he made the adjustment from the cold blooded killer that MI6 had created, into a more open, relaxed individual. That wasn't to say that those old instincts were no longer there to be called upon when needed, but it was no longer the only thing he knew.

The little, out-of-the-way town they had chosen was so far off the beaten path that they both felt relatively secure enough to stay a long time, but both knew that they would eventually have to leave, though if they were lucky, it wouldn't be any time soon.

Alex sighed as he entered the small house that he shared with his mentor. Jason was already up and sitting at the table, eating breakfast.

"Did you have a good run?" the older man asked, though they both knew the pleasantry was pointless.

"Yeah," Alex answered as he helped himself to food. "Though today looks like it's going to be a hot one."

"Isn't it always?" countered Jason.

Ales laughed. "I can't argue with that," he replied, raising the cup he had just filled with water in the other's direction.

Jason responded in turn. The odd little toast had become commonplace to them in the time they had spent together; an acknowledgement of what they had achieved and kept working to hold on to: Freedom.

* * *

**End.**

**I hope you all enjoyed it. Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	7. Playlist

**Playlist:**** [song]- [artist], [album]**

**Faces Without Names- John Powell, The Bourne Ultimatum (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)**

**Children of Sanchez (Overture)- Chuck Mangione, Children of Sanchez**

**Crime of the Century- Supertramp, Crime of the Century**

**Unauthorized Access- David Arnold, Casino Royale (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)**

**Parabol- Tool, Lataralus**

**Renegade- Styx, Classics Vol. 15**

**Night at the Opera- David Arnold, Quantum of Solace (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)**

**Reflection- Tool, Lateralus **

**Sound of Silence- Simon and Garfunkel, Sounds of Silence**

**CCTV- David Arnold, Casino Royale (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)**

**The Earth- Belasco, 61**

**Captain Jack's Theme- Ben Foster, Torchwood (BBC Original Television Soundtrack) **

**Another Day- Tree Adams, MAG: Valor (Original Soundtrack from the Video Game)**

**Light in the Tunnel- Neruda, Red Rider**

**A Solder's Pride- Tree Adams, MAG: Valor (Original Soundtrack to the Video Game)**

**Find the Cost of Freedom- Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young; So Far**


End file.
